


Doloroso

by frostandcrow



Series: Espansivo [4]
Category: The Penumbra Podcast
Genre: (and no one coming close to buying it), (those goddamn misleading misnomers), Cuddling, Domesticity, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Juno learning that sometimes “self-care” requires help from others, Juno playing his “I’m fine” track on repeat, M/M, Nightmares, medical exams
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-21
Updated: 2019-04-21
Packaged: 2020-01-23 03:46:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18541621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frostandcrow/pseuds/frostandcrow
Summary: Juno tries to face the consequences of a month spent in a foreign prison on his own. The crew doesn’t let him.





	Doloroso

**Author's Note:**

> Despite my best efforts, I keep adding stories to this series. In my defense, this fic was written purely out of desire to try my hand at writing a nightmare/insomnia fic. It just so happened that it fit quite well with the plot I’d already established, so two-birds-one-stone I guess. 
> 
> See “End Notes” for trigger warnings.

Juno didn’t awaken from nightmares in the stereotypical manner of jerking upright, or screaming, or lashing out.

 

While certainly not pleasant, this tendency to remain completely still while awakening from a nightmare had helped him stay off Sarah Steel’s radar as a child and, later, allowed him to keep his nightmares secret from whichever person happened to be sharing his bed at the moment (and then, much later, to keep Rita from worrying about him if he happened to nod off at his desk). On balance, he preferred waking up paralyzed over waking up screaming. 

 

He’d suffered from nightmares off and on for most of his life (more on than off, if he was being honest and to absolutely no one’s surprise), but over the past several nights there had been a resurgence in their frequency. This night was no different and he woke from the nightmare in his typical fashion: utterly still, breath caught in his chest, muscles tensed, arms and legs tingling, and heart racing. 

 

He lay there for a moment, reality slowly replacing the vestiges of the nightmare, the details of which were quickly fading, leaving him only with the impressions of _cold_ and _isolation_ , and in that way of dreams, the feeling of simultaneously being back in that Phosphian prison several weeks ago and Old Town several decades ago.

 

Thankfully, he didn’t typically suffer from post-awakening disorientation; he almost always knew where—and when—he was immediately upon awakening. However, that didn’t make the aftereffects of the dream any more tolerable. As he lay there, waiting for the tingling in his hands and feet to subside and trying to forget the lingering vestiges of the dream, he heard the sheets rustle and immediately knew the body behind him was Nureyev.

 

He braced himself for some comment, but, thankfully, the body behind him stilled and it was clear that Nureyev was still asleep. 

 

Juno shivered slightly; their shared blanket formed a gap between it and the bed in the space between their two bodies, which allowed the cool air from the ship to leech in around Juno’s back. Still, he waited a couple of minutes to ensure Nureyev was deeply asleep before daring to move closer. 

 

The proximity did nothing to ease him back to sleep.

 

—————————————————————————————

 

He followed Peter into the kitchen that next morning, squinting at the relative brightness of the dining space compared to the corridor. Peter, being the morning person he was, cheerfully greeted the rest of the crew present on both of their behalves and guided Juno to a vacant chair. He then returned to the table with two steaming mugs of black coffee, one of which he placed in front of Juno, who wrapped his hands around it gratefully.

 

Juno wasn’t a breakfast person on the best of days (he wasn’t much of a lunch or dinner person either, but the crew’s “Juno is not allowed to miss dinner” rule quickly made his feelings towards the latter meal a moot point), but nightmares and subsequent lack of sleep always made him queasy at anything more substantial than coffee in the morning. 

 

He listened to the cadence of the pleasant chatter around him rather than the actual words and let the warmth and caffeine of the coffee slowly revive him. 

 

Jet, the cook for the morning, placed a large tray of scrambled eggs onto the center of the table next to the toast and took the seat next to Juno. 

 

“Good morning.”

 

Juno grunted a reply, taking another gulp of his coffee.

 

“I wouldn’t try that yet, Mista’ Jet,” said Rita from across the table, helping herself to the eggs. “He won’t be coherent until his next cup of coffee.”

 

“I see. In that case, allow me to help.” He topped off Juno’s mug from the carafe at his elbow. Juno wasn’t sure he’d ever felt so appreciative of the man. “After all, it is rare that he joins us for breakfast. I would hate to miss the opportunity to converse with him over our morning meal.”

 

“Don’t get too excited, Big Guy. I’m not any better at small talk in the morning than I am at any other time of day.”

 

“Aha! He does talk!” Peter cheered. “The wonders of coffee never cease to amaze.” Peter grabbed a plate and started piling on eggs, fruit, and toast. “And now, let me introduce you to the next step of breakfasting: breakfast.”

 

“I am having breakfast, Aleph.”

 

“Juno, coffee is not breakfast,” said Peter, placing the plate in front of Juno.

 

Juno eyed the pile of food in front of him, stomach churning queasily. “What human eats this much in the morning?” he asked, incredulously.

 

Peter studied the plate for a moment before venturing, cautiously, “I don’t think this is an abnormal amount of food, Juno.” Then, more quietly, “And you could certainly use it.” Unbidden, Juno replayed the memory of Peter’s expression—brief, and quickly masked—as he ran his hands over Juno’s ribs last night as they engaged in…other activities. He felt a sudden wave of guilt wash through him.

 

“Mmmm, boss, the strawberries are sooooo good!” exclaimed Rita, jerking Juno out of his introspective spiral. “I don’t think I _ever_ had strawberries so juicy!”

 

Buddy, who had been conversing with Vespa, turned her attention to Rita. “We picked up a crate of them from Venus. The soil there is exquisitely nutritious, leading Venus to have some of the best produce in the galaxy.”

 

“Too bad that quality doesn’t extend to the working conditions of their farmers,” muttered Vespa, darkly. 

 

Juno, intrigued despite his stomach’s protests, took a bite out of the fruit. The taste exploded on his tongue in a way that was just shy of overwhelming. And, more pleasingly, it sat in his stomach easily. Encouraged, Juno took another bite.

 

He saw Peter relax back into his seat and start eating his own breakfast as the chatter around the table moved on to other topics. 

 

————————————————————————————————

 

After breakfast, Rita volunteered Juno to help her with the dishes. After the requisite amount of grumbling, Juno found himself standing next to her at the sink, up to his elbows in dish suds washing the cookware as she rinsed and dried, humming some tune under her breath in the otherwise empty kitchen. 

 

“How’re you doin’, boss?” Rita asked out of the blue, breaking the meditative state that the warm, sudsy water and repetitive motions had helped him subconsciously achieve.

 

“What? I’m fine, Rita.”

 

“Uh-huh. It’s just, we ain’t had much of a chance to talk since…well, since you got back from that planet and that was just to tell me ‘thanks’ and to see how _I_ was doin’.”

 

Juno handed her a soapy plate. “Yeah, well, I’m doing fine,” he said lightly.

 

“The circles under your eyes say otherwise, boss.”

 

Juno sighed. “Just didn’t sleep well last night.”

 

Juno scrubbed and handed off another couple of plates to Rita, who stayed uncharacteristically quiet. However, her fidgeting gave her away. 

 

“What, Rita?” he asked, eventually. 

 

She hesitated for a moment before launching into a more characteristic Rita-type spiel. “It’s just, this is new for both of us, livin’ in close quarters with others and goin’ weeks on end without a _job_ or a _case_ and, boss, I know you, you don’t do so good with either of those things—”

 

“Rita,” Juno said, cutting her off. “I’m. Fine.” Then, softening his tone, he continued, “I just had a rough night last night. It’s nothing you need to worry about.”

 

“‘Kay, boss,” she said skeptically. He handed her another soapy dish. Just when he figured she was going to drop the subject, she continued, “Only, you had lots’a rough nights back in Hyperion City and…well, I don’t think your usual way of dealin’ with it is gonna be an option now.”

 

The implication hit Juno like a punch to the gut. “Rita,” he said, softly, “you know I haven’t gone on a bender in _years_.”

 

“What? I know, Mista’ Steel! And I’m really happy about that! And proud of you! But that’s not what I’m talkin’ about.”

 

“Then what _are_ you talking about?” Juno asked, tersely, handing her the last of the plates.

 

“It’s just, when you get miserable, you shut everyone out, which I thought was fine when it was just me ‘cause I know you and I know a lady just needs some space every once in a while. But…I don’t think that’s gonna work so good anymore now that we’re livin’ with others.”

 

Juno, feeling trapped, felt his frustration flare. “What, so I should just…be happy just to make sure everyone else stays happy?”

 

“No, boss! I ain’t sayin’ that at all! I’m just sayin’…” she huffed an upset sigh and placed the plate she’d been rinsing onto the drying rack before turning to face Juno squarely. “What I’m sayin’ is that, maybe you runnin’ off to deal with stuff on your own wasn’t good for _you_. Maybe now’s a good time to see that you got lots’a people here who really do care ‘bout you and that bein’ cared for isn’t a bad thing.”

 

Juno turned back to the sink full of soapy water and fiddled with the plug to avoid looking at Rita. “What’s this got to do with having difficulty sleeping?” he asked, intentionally deflecting her point. He had no desire to unpack what she’d just said at the moment.

 

Rita sighed and handed him the dishtowel to dry his hands. “It doesn’t take a genius to guess you’d have bad dreams after bein’ stuck on that planet, boss. Even if you never talk about it. And, even if it did take a genius, you’re in luck ‘cause this ship is full of ‘em.” She paused and then, her voice becoming uncharacteristically soft, continued, “Speakin’ from my own experience, it helps to talk ‘bout whatever’s eatin’ ya up. ‘Specially if you’re havin’ nightmares ‘bout it.”

 

Rita waited patiently as Juno absorbed what she’d said, subconsciously wringing the washcloth still in his hands. Rita was never shy about hitting him with hard truths, but she very rarely directly acknowledged truths of a more personal nature. He supposed that the line between “boss” and “friend”—the line that he’d fought to maintain for years—was starting to fade and felt vaguely guilty that it had taken nearly fifteen years for him to allow it to do so. “Sure, I’ll—” Juno finally said, voice catching. He cleared his throat and started again. “Thanks, Rita. I…I’ll keep that in mind.”

 

“Okay,” she said, happily, fixing him with a giant, sunny grin. 

 

———————————————————————————

 

The two downsides to spending the day helping Jet run maintenance on the ship’s various working parts was that the guy seemed to know everything about the ship, including his crewmate’s schedules, and that he had absolutely no absent-minded tendencies. This combination allowed him to both know about Juno’s before-dinner appointment with Vespa and kept Juno from being able to distract Jet from remembering it and gently insisting that he meet with Vespa at the appointed time.

 

Therefore, he found himself standing outside the infirmary door that evening, hand hovering over the entry pad.

 

He hated medical examinations.

 

Just as he was considering testing his theory that the aft deck supply closet would make a decent hiding place, the door opened, causing him to jump back and make a sound—which he would adamantly deny was a squawk—of surprise.

 

Vespa, standing on the other side of the threshold, also looked surprised for a moment before the expression faded back into her usual impassive one. “Good, I was about to start looking for you. C’mon, let’s get this over with.” So saying, she turned on her heel and retreated further into the medical bay. Juno, after a split second of hesitation, followed her in, the door shutting behind him.

 

She sat down at the desk and started to click through what he assumed was his file while he sat perched on the exam table trying not to squirm. 

 

She then got up and grabbed the blood pressure cuff. “Hoodie off,” she said, brusquely. 

 

“Why do we need to do this?” Juno asked, more for form’s sake as he complied anyway. 

 

“I can’t take a good reading with that bulky sleeve in the way.” Then, eyeing the thick shirt he had on under the hoodie, she added, “That’ll need to come off, too.”

 

Juno sighed and pulled the thick Henley off, dropping it onto his hoodie. “That’s not what I meant. I’m fine. I don’t know why I’m here.”

 

Vespa just looked at him, unimpressed. Ignoring his last statement for the moment, she said, “Juno, I need to put this—“ she held up the blood pressure cuff, “—over your _bare_ arm.”

 

“Fine,” Juno acquiesced, pulling off his final long-sleeved shirt and adding it to the growing pile of clothes.

 

“And I think you’ve just answered your own question,” she added, wrapping the cuff around Juno’s upper arm and looking pointedly at the pile of shirts. 

 

“What?” he said, indignantly. “It’s not my fault you guys keep it freezing on this ship.”

 

“We keep the ship at seventy degrees Fahrenheit.”

 

“Yeah, well…that’s…really cold compared to Mars,” he tried. 

 

Vespa just looked at him again without saying a word and, with her stethoscope ear pieces in and diaphragm placed to his inner elbow, started to inflate the cuff. 

 

Juno waited for her to take measurements of his blood pressure, heart rate, and who knew what else and then complied as she told him to breathe deeply so she could listen to his lungs and then to “stop breathing so deeply, dammit, I’m trying to listen to your heart.” 

 

She finished her physical exam without saying much else and then rolled her stool back to the computer to type her observations.

 

“So…can I put my clothes back on?” he asked after a few seconds of silence. 

 

“Nope,” she said, distractedly, “Need your weight first.”

 

“You know, most doctors start their visits with a ‘Hello, how are you? What can I do for you today?’” he grumbled as he slid off the table and went over to the scale. 

 

“Not a doctor,” she replied absently. “Just a really damn good medic.” She continued typing for a few seconds longer and then fixed her attention back on Juno. “Shoes need to come off,” she observed.

 

“Dammit, does Buddy know you’re trying to get me naked?” 

 

“Don’t get snarky. I’m letting you keep your pants on, aren’t I?”

 

“Small comfort,” Juno grunted, hopping on one foot awkwardly in order to remove his boot.

 

“Though, I guess I should confirm that you’re not wearing three layers of pants as well?”

 

Juno stepped onto the scale. “It’s not _that_ cold.”

 

“Uh-huh.” She looked at the number on the scale’s display. Juno didn’t. “Okay, you can get dressed again.”

 

“ _Thank_ you.”

 

“So,” she began conversationally as she watched him tug on his shirts, “besides the cold-intolerance, how’re you doing?”

 

“ _Fine,_ ” he repeated. 

 

“Is it getting any better?”

 

“What, being cold all the time? Yeah, at this rate, I’m sure the ship’ll feel down-right _balmy_ in the next day or two. Now, are we done here?”

 

Vespa sighed. “Please, Juno, I just want to talk.”

 

Juno hesitated and then took a seat in the empty chair next to the exam table. “Okay, fine. Talk.”

 

“Look, you had me worried after you got back from Phosphic Five. Most adults don’t withstand Scrag very well, and going into that severe of an illness after a month of stress and malnutrition and whatever else being in an Outer Rim prison does to a body…well, let’s just say that you’re lucky you fared as well as you did.”

 

He couldn’t keep the bitterness from his voice as he replied, “Yeah, well, that’s just me all over: lucky.” 

 

“In short,” she continued, “I’m insisting on keeping a close eye on you because you had me worried and I don’t like to be worried. I find that I am less worried when I can monitor the anemia, malnutrition, dehydration, exhaustion, kidney injury, myalgias, arthralgias—“

 

“Okay, now you’re just making words up.”

 

“And make sure that those things are getting better,” Vespa continued, eyes narrowing in annoyance at the interruption. “And, for the most part, they are. But not as quickly as I would have expected.”

 

Juno felt a surge of irritation at that and couldn’t help but retort, “Yeah, well, you just said that you’re not a doctor, so I’m not sure how accurate your expectations would be.”

 

And, dammit, that actually made her flinch.

 

“Goddammit, I’m sorry, Vespa,” Juno muttered, rubbing his face with his hands. “I didn’t mean it like that. I just…look, I’m sorry I’m not getting better fast enough. We still have two weeks before we make it to McNeil’s base of operations. I’ll be ready for whatever the crew needs me to do by then.”

 

His comment was met with silence. He looked up to see that Vespa’s look of shock hadn’t quite dissipated. 

 

“Juno…is _that_ why you think I’m worried? That you won’t be able to help with the take-down of that jackass’s base?”

 

“…no?”

 

She leaned forward, elbows on her knees and looked directly at Juno. “Juno, I’m worried because recovery from what you went through relies on rest, stress reduction, and optimized nutrition. The fact that you’re not improving as quickly as I would have expected makes me think that you’re having difficulty with one or more of those things. It would help if I knew which.”

 

“Look, I’m—“

 

“‘Fine,’ yeah, you said,” she snapped. “At the risk of damaging your ego, you’re not the only person on this ship who’s suffered through a really shitty situation.”

 

Juno felt his temper rise. “Dammit, I _know_ that. That doesn’t mean I need to make it anyone else’s problem.”

 

“That _is_ the problem, you jerk. You need to take better care of yourself and, sometimes, that means _asking for help_.” She exhaled loudly and seemed to collect herself before continuing, “Look, I understand where you’re coming from. You know why? I. Was. There. I was a goddamn mess after that Rasbach Cure Mother situation. And, I get it. I get the hesitation to let others in, the fear that you’ll be a burden to those you care about, that they’ll grow to resent the weight they have to carry on your behalf. But, guess what? They’re already carrying that weight _now_. The weight of their worry—which comes from them _knowing_ that something’s wrong but having no clue what it is because _you won’t let them in_ —is a lot fucking heavier than the weight they’d carry for you if you just _told_ them what is going on.”

 

Her words rang in Juno’s skull in the silence that followed. After a moment, she continued, more softly. “You and I are really lucky, Juno. This crew has the best goddamn people in the universe on it. If it weren’t for Buddy and Jet…I don’t think I would have regained my sanity even after the Cure Mother.” 

 

She met Juno’s eye. “But, I had to let them in, first.”

 

————————————————————————————

 

He was cold to his bones, his stomach in agony from hunger and the pervasive and persistent fear, the latter of which had been steadily building and grew until it froze his lungs and every breath he tried to take just made his chest tighten painfully, and yet, still the voices continued to shout at him in a language he didn’t understand but in a voice that…was…his mother’s?—

 

—and, at that realization he jerked awake, body completely still, breath caught in his chest, muscles in his arms and legs tingling painfully. 

 

 _Dammit_ , he thought, willing the tightness in his chest diminish enough to allow a deeper breath. 

 

It took a few minutes, but eventually he felt the tightness in his chest loosen and the tingling paralysis in his limbs dissipate. He mashed his face further into his pillow in impotent frustration. 

 

Peter shifted behind him. He instinctively stilled and listened as Peter’s breathing evened back out.

 

Just as he resigned himself to another sleepless night, Vespa’s words ran through his head. He allowed himself a moment of hesitation before making the decision to inch backwards until his back came into contact with Peter’s body. _Baby steps,_ he thought as he allowed himself to relax into the man’s warm, sleeping body. 

 

“Juno?” came the sleepy voice from behind him. 

 

Juno resisted the temptation to feign sleep. “Sorry,” he muttered in apology, “Didn’t mean to wake you. Go back to sleep.”

 

Peter slung an arm over Juno’s chest and pulled him closer to the curl of his body. “Juno, dear, you’re tense,” he said, voice more awake. 

 

“Oh, sorry. ’S nothing.” He tried desperately to relax. The last thing he wanted was Peter to be kept up by his own ridiculous inability to sleep.

 

“No, I don’t think it is,” Peter replied, moving away from Juno in order to sit upright against the headboard. “In fact, I suspect that this is something that’s been going on for the past couple of nights.”

 

Juno looked over his shoulder at the dark outline of Peter’s body. “What are you doing?”

 

“If you’re not sleeping, I’m not sleeping,” came the matter-of-fact reply.

 

“Don’t be stupid, Nureyev.”

 

“Then don’t act as if I _am_ stupid, Juno.”

 

“…what?”

 

“You haven’t been sleeping well these past several days and, I’m sorry Juno, but you’re not very good at hiding it.”

 

Juno kept his back turned towards Peter, saying nothing. Peter continued, “I’m sorry that I didn’t realize it sooner and I’m sorry that for these past few nights I obliviously slept on while I suspect you remained awake. I’m not forcing you to talk to me, but I will not let you suffer alone. After all, in my experience, there is nothing more lonely than facing a sleepless night alone.”

 

Juno, realizing he wasn’t going to win this battle, sighed and moved to sit upright against the headboard as well. Peter placed an arm across his back, tugging him closer to his body. Juno allowed his head to rest on Peter’s shoulder. 

 

They sat like that for a while. Finally, Juno said, “I’ve been having nightmares.”

 

“I suspected as much.” He paused for a moment before adding, “I’m sorry that I have been sleeping through them. I wouldn’t have thought that I’m that heavy of a sleeper.”

 

“I usually wake up with sleep paralysis,” Juno said, shrugging lightly. “Not waking up whoever I’m in bed with is pretty much the only good thing that comes from that.”

 

“Juno, I’m sorry, but I wish you would have awoken me after they happened.”

 

“No offense, Nureyev, but I’m pretty sure the only thing that would’ve come from that is _both_ of us being sleep-deprived.”

 

“You don’t think talking to me would have helped?” Peter asked, keeping his tone open and nonjudgemental.

 

“Honestly? No. I don’t.” He almost regretted his frankness as he felt Peter stiffen against him. 

 

It was a while before Peter spoke again.

 

“This…may be asking too much but, Juno, darling, before you write my help off as a failure, I’d like the chance to at least try?”

 

“Try what? What is there to try, Nureyev? They’re nightmares. They don’t go away because you want them to or because you ask them nicely.”

 

“No, but nightmares usually stem from something and, even if you continue to suffer from them—“

 

“—you mean _when_ I continue to have them—“

 

“—even _if_ the nightmares continue,” Peter reiterated, doggedly, “that doesn’t mean you have to remain awake all night. I’m sure we can think of something to help you get back to sleep.”

 

“Fine,” said Juno, unable to continue his fight against Peter’s earnest optimism, “I’m all ears.”

 

“Tell me about your nightmares.”

 

“What?”

 

“I can’t plan an attack against an enemy I know nothing about, Juno.”

 

“…fine.” 

 

Peter remained silent as Juno described the landscape of his recent nightly torments: the cold, the feeling of isolation broken only by voices of nameless, faceless beings shrouded in darkness speaking in cruel tones a language he didn’t understand. He could not bring himself to describe how the dreams of the prison at times blended themes of past nightmares involving Old Town, his mother, Benzaiten, Diamond, and the myriad of other subjects his subconscious was generous in donating. 

 

Peter remained silent for a long while after Juno had finished. Juno relaxed further into his body, the fatigue pressing on him physically but doing nothing to calm his racing thoughts.

 

Eventually Peter asked, “Why now, do you think?”

 

“What?”

  
“Why do you think the nightmares only started a few days ago? You were sleeping quite soundly up until then.”

 

Juno thought it over. “I dunno. I suppose…I was just so _exhausted_ after that month that my body’s need for sleep won out over my mind’s need to torment me? And now that the bone-deep exhaustion is mostly gone…” He fondly recalled his tendency to nod off whenever the opportunity presented itself for the first week or so after arriving back on the ship. What he wouldn’t give in order to succumb to sleep so easily again.

 

“I see.”

 

“I don’t think I ever really realized it, but, back in Hyperion, when the nightmares and insomnia got too bad, I’d work until I’d reached that state of absolute exhaustion.” He hesitated before adding, “Rita reminded me of this today and she doesn't think this strategy is going to be an option anymore.”

 

“Certainly not.” Peter sniffed dismissively. “I think together we can come up with a much more sustainable plan.”

 

“I’m still all ears, Nureyev.”

 

Peter remained quiet, ruminatively running his hand gently over Juno’s bicep.

 

“Look, Peter, it’s fine. This isn’t the first time I’ve had trouble sleeping and it won’t be the last. I don’t want to drag you into this with me.” He moved away from Peter’s side and slid back down beneath the covers, turning his back to Peter. “You should go back to sleep. I’ll be fine.”

 

He heard Peter’s sigh from above him. The, he felt the covers shift as Peter slid back into bed beside him. 

 

“I think the solution might be quite simple,” said Peter, voice smooth and soothing. “There are several elements to your nightmares that stand out to me. The first,” and here Juno felt the mattress dip and Peter shifted his weight and then moved closer to Juno so his chest was resting against Juno’s back, “is the pervasive sense of being cold. The second,” another pause as he wrapped his arms around Juno, “is the sense of isolation, of being alone in a foreign, dark place. Of being surrounded by strangers whom you cannot communicate with and whose intent you therefore cannot anticipate. At the very least, I believe I can offer the antidote to these afflictions through warmth, company, and—hopefully—security if you’ll let me.”

 

Juno considered this, but doubted the answer could be so simple. However, at his core, he did trust the man behind him.

 

“Fine. We’ll give it a shot,” he muttered. 

 

“Thank you, my dear,” murmured Peter, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. “Just promise me that, when this proves to be effective, you’ll wake me up after your nightmares in the future.”

 

“ _If_ it’s effective, then sure,” said Juno, damning the timing of the yawn he tried to stifle. He feared his effort was in vain as Peter’s huff of soft laughter ruffled his hair, the confident dork.

 

“Now, Juno, if you’ll indulge me, I would like to tell you about the year I spent as a botanist on Titan in a lead-up to one of my most anticlimactic heists to date.”

 

Juno wiggled backwards a bit, settling more securely in Peter’s arms. “Yeah, sure, whatever.”

 

He listened as Peter talked about his day-to-day life as a researcher-impersonator and soon Juno lost the energy to follow the meaning of his words, instead focusing on the timbre of Peter’s quiet, even voice. It was the last thing he was aware of before finally drifting off to sleep.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger Warnings:  
> 1\. Recollections of spending time in prison, unable to speak the native language.  
> 2\. Nightmares (non-specific) accompanied by sleep paralysis.
> 
> I feel a bit disingenuous writing this because I so very rarely have trouble sleeping and I can count on one hand the number of nightmares I get in a year. However, when I do get them, I wake up in the midst of sleep paralysis and it is deeply unpleasant. 
> 
> In happier news, let me share with you my head canon that Nureyev absolutely radiates body heat, making him the perfect snuggle companion. You’re welcome.


End file.
